Dear Chirpy Refrigerator In My Otherwise Perfect New Apartment,

It's true: my apartment is nearly perfect. With its original 1928 doors and windows, a fantastic retro sink that matches the metal '50s kitchen table I inherited from my grandma, and heat paid for by the landlord, I can think of little that could make my new home any better.

Little, that is, besides a quieter refrigerator.

You, my dear large appliance, keep my milk chilled and my ice cream frozen in a manner I cannot reproach, and for a single woman living alone, I cannot think of a better size fridge than you. But you are never quiet. What's going on in there? Why must you run as loud as a leer jet at takeoff and make concerning dripping sounds in the four-minute intervals when you are (comparatively) quiet? And why (dare I ask?) does it sound for all the world as though you're hiding a flock of sparrows behind you?

(You aren't, are you?)

Please keep up the good work contributing to the overall perfections of my new apartment, but please -- if you can find it in yourself, deep down in the crisper -- please try to be a little quieter.

Hugs & kisses,
B